


The Art of Redirection

by Draycevixen



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first story written for MFU, written for the MFUWSS' Easter Egg challenge.</p><p>The prompt was a piece of artwork called "Fully Embraced" by Felix d'Eon.</p><p>A tiny bit of plot with a large side of smut and all set beneath the Russian Baths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Redirection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Georgiesmith](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Georgiesmith).



The door to the storage room exploded inward, Illya's momentum carrying him backward in to the shelves, his impact dislodging precariously stacked piles of towels that cascaded down around him.

He scrambled back to his feet, re-tucking the loosening towel around his waist, as Napoleon charged through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

"Obviously something is bothering you, Napoleon, but we do not have time to discuss it right now. We need to get dressed and supervise what is left of—"

"Mark's taking care of it. They're taking Dr. Frost back to HQ... Did you really think hiding from me down here would work?"

"Hide? From _you_? Why would I hide—" Illya's voice died as he quickly noted Napoleon's hands beginning to clench in to fists at his sides, his weight shifting on to the balls of his feet, ready to fight.

Most people who knew the usually impeccably groomed and perfectly coiffured Napoleon Solo would never have suspected that he could look quite so menacing clad only in a towel, his hair falling loosely in his eyes. However, Illya wasn't most people and he knew only too well the dangerous man that lurked beneath Napoleon's urbane facade. Illya knew there wasn't time to calm him down but also knew he didn't want to have to fight him. That only left one other option, to redirect Napoleon's angry energy.

Illya closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around Napoleon's upper body. He dragged his cheek down the side of Napoleon's face and licked at the tender skin under Napoleon's ear.

"Get off me!"

Illya ignored him, tightening his arms against Napoleon's intensifying struggles, jumping to lock his legs around Napoleon's waist, slowing Napoleon down with the effort of handling Illya's additional weight. With Napoleon off balance he bit his earlobe, causing Napoleon to roar and stride rapidly forward, again ramming Illya's back in to the shelving. Illya dropped his feet to the floor and slid one fast hand through the flap of Napoleon's towel, grabbing his balls in a none too gentle hand. Napoleon stopped struggling immediately, his eyes snapping down to where Illya's wrist disappeared under his towel and then back up to Illya's face.

"You wouldn't."

"Watch me." Illya flexed his fingers lightly.

Napoleon winced and thrust his own equally fast hand through Illya's towel to get the same hold, although his fingers weren't quite as gentle. "Check."

"No, Russian." Illya transferred his hold to Napoleon's hardening cock, caressing him as he leaned forward to kiss him.

Napoleon met him halfway in a punishing kiss that forced Illya's head back against the shelving as he changed his own grip to mirror Illya's. The heavy cotton towels bunched up between them as they fondled each other causing Illya to whip his head back with a growl of frustration before using his free hand to send both of their towels plummeting to the floor. As they writhed against each other, Napoleon slid his free hand to caress Illya's ass, his fingers pressing inwards. He then pulled back slightly to mutter against Illya's lips. "If we were home I'd bend you over the couch and—"

"Why not here?"

"You know why not, we have no—" Napoleon's eyes widened as Illya dangled a bottle of oil in front of his face. "Where did you get that?"

"Magic."

"What?"

Illya rolled his eyes, breathing heavily. "We are in a storage room for the Russian baths. There's a shelf full of it right here."

Napoleon grabbed the bottle and stepped back. "Turn around."

"No, this way." Illya pulled him in close again and slid one leg up around Napoleon's waist, reaching up to hold on to the shelf above him.

Napoleon poured oil in to his hands and reached back between Illya's legs, watching his face intently as Illya's frown of concentration and bitten lip yielded in a matter of minutes to darkening eyes and a slackening mouth. Napoleon's clever fingers eased the way, bringing with them a familiar yet still intense pleasure. As Napoleon withdrew his fingers and stepped in closer, Illya took more of his weight on to his arms and raised his other leg so they were both wrapped high and tight around Napoleon's waist, as Napoleon adjusted the angle between them and barely breached Illya before sliding his hands to Illya's ass to steady them both.

"Move, Napoleon!"

"No." Napoleon smirked at him.

Illya smirked back and loosened his hold on the shelf, allowing gravity to start to do its work before Napoleon tightened his grip and stopped Illya's progress. For a minute, the only sound in the room was both of them gasping from their contrary efforts.  
"Promise me you won't do it again."

"You really do not want me to do this again?" Illya wiggled his hips as far as he could, sinking just a little further down, causing Napoleon to groan.

"You know what I mean, promise me."

"Never."

"Never?" Napoleon's hands eased slightly on Illya's body.

"I will never—" Air hissed between Illya's teeth as he took the chance to push further down on Napoleon's cock "—make that promise."

Napoleon pressed his forehead against Illya's. "Sneaky."

"Frequently... Napoleon!" Illya cried out as Napoleon loosened his hold and snapped his hips back and then up, bringing Illya to rest flush against his body.

"I'm sneaky... too..." Napoleon snapped his hips again, forcing another groan from Illya "I learned…" the tendons were now standing out on Napoleon's neck from the strain of remaining still "from the... master."

Illya moved one hand to stroke Napoleon's nape. "Bastard."

"_Your_ bastard, always."

Illya licked the sweat from his neck, his hoarse "Now my Napoleon, now" finally pushing Napoleon's control to the breaking point as he thrust in to Illya with enough force to rattle the shelves, five, six times and it was all over for both of them. Napoleon buried his face in the side of Illya's neck as Illya made nonsensical soothing noises and gently rubbed the back of Napoleon's neck and shoulders.

 

"We have to move Napoleon, my legs are beginning to cramp and we are beginning to stick together."

"And people say you're not a romantic... so much for basking in the afterglow."

Napoleon carefully withdrew and offered his support as Illya lowered his feet to the floor finding his balance. As Illya went to move away, "the showers are across the hall," Napoleon snagged his wrist and pulled him back in to his arms.

"So you won't promise me, Illya?"

"No, I will not."

"But you could have died. If his gun hadn't jammed— you have to promise me you'll stop risking your life to save mine."

Illya raised his hand to cup Napoleon's face, running his thumb lightly across Napoleon's cheek. "Only if you will promise me the same thing."

Napoleon pressed his face into Illya's hand. "I can't, I'd be lying to you."

"My feelings exactly." Illya stepped back, carefully schooling his face back in to its usual impassive mask. "Enough of this nonsense. We are who we are and we do what we do." He knew Napoleon would follow his cue. "First a shower, then dinner—"

"Then you'll bend me over my couch—" Napoleon waggled his eyebrows.

"Afterward we will sleep and then—"

"We'll get up and save the world all over again."

"Good, then it is settled." Illya allowed himself a slight quirk of his lips. "With my brains and your charm we will be all right."

"Far better in fact than if we had to rely on _your_ charm." Napoleon pushed the hair out of his eyes and reclined, smiling, against the shelving.

Yes, they would be all right. Illya picked up their towels, tucked one back around his waist and threw the other one over his shoulder to Napoleon while heading rapidly for the door, getting a good head start. "Here, cover your brains."

"_Illya!_"


End file.
